Code Geass: The Lamperouges of the Anarchy
by Honore - Form. MerlintoVivian
Summary: Zero: a figure of many masks, hidden or otherwise. The new product of a divergent branch, this is the story of the one who broke the world. "Sequel" to the Breaking of the Lamperouges. ON BREAK


AN: Alright I lied, it's not a sequel per se, more like my previous work was the very long prologue.

Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass in any way. Also, reading the previous work is a must - I firmly insist. It's either that, or you won't understand much of what I'm writing here =)

* * *

It was the year 2017 in the Imperial Calendar, and the people of the Holy Britannian Empire awoke one day to the earth-shattering news of Prince Clovis' death.

As the Third Prince of the Imperial Family, Clovis was a well-known and much publicized figure in Britannian society. There was no socialite in the world who could not recognize the flamboyant prince's name, much less his face that more than a few aspiring women dreamed of.

To anyone who viewed the prince as a political object, he was also known as the longtime Viceroy of Area Eleven, one of the few holdings the burgeoning nation currently had on the Asian continent.

There was no doubt that the news would generate much commotion, from the elite social circles of the Empire to the military departments of each nation. It was a given, as the sudden death of such high-ranking royalty and the scarcity of details that circulated about his death ensured that many, if not most would be talking about the news for weeks at the very least.

As people around the world waited patiently near a source of media for any new developments in the crisis, cooler and more objective heads within the Empire itself set about consolidating what little they knew.

There was indeed little that they could possibly know, for a heavy blanket of silence had fallen upon communications from Area Eleven since the day the news of the horrible death had come out. This was partly resulting from the fact that the local Britannian military was still scrambling to strengthen the flow of events.

For the Prince was not the only one who'd perished on that fateful day. Unreported were the news of the deaths of many of the Prince's retinue, who'd constituted the higher echelons in the command structure of Area Eleven, which included the high-ranked officers and administrators of the Area.

In a place as volatile as Area Eleven, such floundering by the local military, constrained of its figurative head, was a dangerous precedent.

In the brief span of time before the whole world would know about this unfortunate piece of news, the hierarchy of Area Eleven scrambled to organize. This was why Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, temporary commander in chief of the Area Eleven armed forces was at the moment, hurrying through the halls of the massive building that was the Viceroy's Palace. He was, in a sense, taking over the job that had been the palace owner's name's.

The Margrave was a stern-faced man, his eyes never losing its determined gleam even as his face showed a harried expression. In his one hand, he held a folder that contained a sheaf of papers, in his other was clutched a fist-sized comm-device. He was still oddly dressed in the uniform of a Knight, as the order of his temporary promotion from the homeland had come only hours earlier. Striding crisply, he stepped before a set of ornate, wooden double doors and after a pause, opened his way through.

He found himself in the Viceroy's Office, a richly decorated room that betrayed the manner of its previous and departed occupant. Clearing a space at the massive desk with a smooth sweep, he placed the folder onto the surface and perched the device next to it.

Looking around the colorful office, he spotted a display of liquor bottles on a shelf, and after a beat, he stepped towards the cabinet. Before he could get close, Jeremiah stopped, running a hand through his hair as he returned to stand before the table.

Scattering the papers onto the table revealed a mess of reports, maps gathered materials and photographs of various subjects. Spreading a general map of Area Eleven on the table, Jeremiah activated the comm-device and said, "Kewell, Viletta, do you copy?"

A cacophony of static preceded the voices greeted him in return, "Yes, sir." "Reporting for duty, Margrave."

Jermiah pinched the bridge of his nose as he surveyed the map, saying placidly, "At ease, you two. Just this morning we were equal in rank."

The male voice, Kewell's, replied in jest, "And right after that, _ sir, _you were boosted up in rank, thus making our respect natural."

The other's that of a deep-voiced female agreed, "Lord Jeremiah, we await your orders."

"So what it'll be now, sir?" Kewell's jest continued. "Need us to do something for you? I seem to remember how just last night, you needed a _Please _before I would lend you my toothpaste."

"And I also remember how you were complaining about the rumors that Rutford would be promoted over you..." the woman's sultry voice rejoined.

There was a general chuckle shared through the communication, a sound that seemed to irritate Jeremiah as he pounded his fist on the table, "Damn it you two, we need to focus, now!"

Silence. "I'm sorry, sir.' "-overstepped my bounds, Lord Jeremiah."

"I- sorry-" the man took a deep breath and continued, "-listen, the reasons why I called you first was because you two are the only ones I can trust here in this Area, and the only ones I could trust for the things the things I will need to do here next."

"Our deepest apologies, sir." "What would you have us do, lord?"

"Stop calling- alright, never mind, let's get on to the main part. Viletta, could you update me on the situation, please?" Jeremiah finally found the time to sit on one of the leather-backed chairs.

"Very well, lord. As planned, we have diverted most of the corps to search-and-rescue efforts in the ghetto. The whole area has been cordoned off by our forces, and a team of Knights has been put to work recovering the bodies from the...base."

Jeremiah grimaced. Some of his acquaintances in the local military, good men, had been caught in the blast that had consumed the Prince's mobile base, and he hated the fact that _he_ might be the one to sign all the letters that would inevitable be sent to the grieving families left behind. "Has the science team found the definite cause for the explosion?"

"None yet, Margrave. But the general consensus holds that it was an act of direct sabotage from within by an insurgent. "

And one hell of an insurgent that had been, to have been able to infiltrate a heavily-guarded Mobile Base that had been ringed all around by the Prince's escort. "What's the count as of this hour?"

"My lord, we have two hundred soldiers dead, a hundred injured, eighty-five Knights dead or still unaccounted for, and twenty Honorary-"

Jeremiah swore. Eighty-five Knights - that is, soldiers who'd had the expertise to pilot the Empire's top-tier weapon, the Knightmare, dead, all in a single day. Not even the worst insurrection that had occurred in the Area had claimed that many. What was even more disturbing was the thought that most of the Knights in the Area itself had been concentrated at the Settlement on that day, and as such, Britannia's Knightmare power was now drastically reduced across the entire archipelago.

"-we have sent a team to investigate the hole that was found near the site of the explosion, so far, they have also yet to give a definite report. We have also cleaned out most of the potential insurgents that were still scattered throughout the ghetto..."

As he perused all the copies of the reports that had been gathered to form a vague view of what had really happened, Jeremiah's mind worked quickly to think and plan ahead, as many of his long ago tutors had exhorted. There was much, much to do if he was to not disappoint the Empire in the execution of his duties.

"While finding and dealing with the culprits responsible for this heinous act is a priority as subjects of the Crown, we must also remember the reality of our current position," Jeremiah stood from his chair and walked over to the window, where he was afforded the view of a relatively peaceful Tokyo Settlement, whose general populace was still unaware of the potent danger they faced. "We cannot abandon our charges, the people we have sworn to protect even if it meant our lives in exchange. That is our _duty_, as soldiers of the Emperor." The Margrave closed his eyes painfully for a second. "Kewell, recall all of our garrisoned soldiers from the bases encircling the Settlement in a thirty mile radius. Order them to take up as many strategic positions as they can find, and make sure those captains do their best to coordinate their forces!

"After that, you shall contact the outlying bases and relay the general state of the Area. Order them to escalate their alert levels. Should they ever find themselves facing a direct assault on their bases by a determined rebel force, they must do their absolute best to hold out. Otherwise, they shall exercise extreme prejudice in punishing any Eleven who will attempt terrorist acts. Viletta, " he said in an aside, "you shall handle escalation of the alert level within the Settlement itself."

"Understood, sir."

"The media blanket," Jeremiah continued, "will still be in effect – allow no one without a high level pass into and out of Shinjuku. The last thing we need is a general panic and the possibility of giving away the knowledge that most of the leadership's dead to our enemies. "

"Yes sir, I understand. But if I may, sir?"

"Yes?"

"The media rabble will still be overly curious about the events surrounding the Prince, you shall have to issue a press announce-"

"Yes, yes, I know that part, thank you for reminding me, Kewell." the Margrave impatiently interrupted. "As I said, we shall need to find and punish whoever's responsible – get the media off our backs, but that will have to come after the results from the investigation has arrived. That is why – Viletta, you shall need to remind our science team of the urgency of our mission."

"It will be done, lord."

"I have no further orders. Dismissed."

An hour later, Jeremiah sat behind the desk that had been the Viceroy's, wondering at the unique feeling that came from this position. Before him was the comm-device, silent since the dismissal, and an open canteen of his best Bartley's.

Clenching his fist after taking a deep swig, the Margrave thought of his new position, and the implications it could have on his life. Imagine, just yesterday this man was looking forward to having to buckle under a new and possibly arrogant superior, ordered to go do this or that as a Knight; but now he was right at the top, and he was expected to throw around instructions like a turret gun.

The pleasure from getting to have a high-profile position this soon in his career notwithstanding, Jeremiah also had some doubts, revolving around his concerns that he wouldn't be able to do a good job.

_But I have to, for the sake of the Empire. _No matter his past faults, his weaknesses, his hidden failures -

Jeremiah froze, quickly downing another big swig that almost emptied the canteen of the liquor. He did not want to be reminded of his past, when he'd had an equally significant, if not more important duty. It was a duty that he'd failed most miserably, and had been a crutch to whatever possible perfection he craved.

"Lady Marianne..." he murmured into the shadow of his palm.

_Scenes of carnage. The screams of dying Elevens, so fulfilling, so pleasurable. His Factsphere registered more of them, fleeing through a ruined back-alley on a rickety truck. A few rounds from his weapon took care of that, and he didn't even bat an eye as he moved his Sutherland away. A blur. Battered, **humiliated**. His escape pod feet behind him, smoking, Then came orders in his earcomm, alerting the troops to a retreat. It is the Prince's voice. Inwardly, he questions. As a soldier, he makes for the mobile base. As he nears, he spots that Special Corps Kewell had mentioned. A strange, white, sleek-looking Knightmare, its metal shell showing signs of extreme trauma, is being examined. A boy descends. Eleven? Suddenly, the sound of thunder. To his left, where the base should be, rose a smoke cloud. Sounds of screaming. Silence. He awakes to the sound of his name. Jeremiah...Margrave Jeremiah...Failure...Jeremiah...Lord-_

"-Jeremiah! Lord Jeremiah!" The Margrave jolted awake, his hands automatically clicking on the answer button in the comm device.

"Report, Viletta."

"Lord Jeremiah, are you alright? You took such a long time-"

"I had to step out to review this building's security details," he lied. Looking at the ancient wall-clock to his right, he saw that it had been barely two hours since he'd dismissed his two subordinates. Slapping himself fully awake, he repeated, "Do you have something to report, Viletta?"

"A problem with some Honorary Britannians, lord. They're assaulting one of the Knightmare hangars. "

Silence. "You know what happens to traitors, Viletta. I have no intention of changing that rule." The Margrave's voice was exceptionally cold.

"Yes, sir."

Using a handkerchief to wipe the residual sweat on his palms, Jeremiah grunted, willing himself to lose the faint drowsiness. In light of the magnitude of the events that had just happened at Area Eleven, the pathetic uprising of a few undeserving whelps was not a jarring loss. In fact, to him, it was a boon, as it would serve to cement the inevitable abolishment of the Honorary system.

Brows furrowed, the Margrave exited the office to do what he'd lied to Viletta about doing. As he made his way about the elaborately decorated corridors, he marvelled at the departed Prince's extravagance, one quirk which his strict, military discipline railed against.

_If I do get this position permanently, _he thought idly, _the first things to go would be the paintings. _

Jeremiah emerged onto a particularly populated wing of the building, where he saw people bustling about, working to realize the orders they'd been given. _His orders, _he allowed himself a smug thought.

As he passed by a certain room, he was surprised to see what looked to be an Eleven, standing at attention next to several robed figures who were talking to one of his officers.

Curious, he walked on into the room. He caught a bit of what the figures were talking before he got close to them.

"...I'm afraid we can't contact General Bartley at this time, sir..."

"Well then we're in a right conundrum aren't we? The good general's the one who gave my man the order to sortie-"

"Lloyd-san, we'd been ordered by the Prince himself! Surely-"

"Well, it's no use getting the Prince to testify for us now, right?"

"Is there a problem, soldier?" The Margrave addressed the officer in charge, who stood up hastily and saluted. After returning the gesture, Jeremiah turned to look at the robed figures, a bespectacled man with a slight hunch standing next to a blue-haired woman in the uniform of the Engineering corps. His gaze settled on the brown-haired Eleven standing in crisp attention, sporting a salute that he didn't deign to return.

"I'm just clearing up Earl Asplund's and Dr, Croomy's story during the incident, sir." The officer said.

"And who might you be, good sir? I'm afraid it's still our turn answering the unneeded questions." The man said with a gesture that implied to shoo the Margrave. This seemed to raise a few hairs: his own, the woman's, and the officer's.

"Lloyd!" "You will show respect!" The Margrave remained silent, although his face curled in displeasure.

"I'm sorry, I believe we've started the conversation on the wrong foot. I am Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, Area Eleven's new viceroy." he started stiffly in an attempt at diplomacy. His pride as a professional soldier came first, after all.

"Oh, you're the interim leader guy, huh? Well nice to meetch-OW!" The bespectacled oaf twisted in pain as the woman beside him spoke smoothly and politely. "His name is Lloyd Asplund, sir."

Wishing to avoid an angry outburst this early in his rule, he turned to the woman expectantly. "And your name would be?"

"Dr. Cecile Croomy, attached to the Special Corps, sir." she replied, ignoring the faint whimpers of pain that issued from the man beside her.

Jeremiah mentally slapped himself. Of course, they were the so-called Special Corps scientists assigned to Area Eleven, apparently under the patronage of an important Imperial figure such that they enjoyed certain special privileges. And so, they represented someone who didn't truly belong to the chain of command.

_And the double risk, _Jeremiah grimly thought as he turned to look at Lloyd again, _scientist types_. He was familiar with and somewhat averse to the type. His gaze found the Eleven's again, the one reason why he'd been drawn into the room.

"Understood. So what's the issue here then?" he asked of the officer again, giving off the illusion of not wanting to inconvenience the scientists further while keeping his veiled eyes fixed on the Eleven.

"I'm just trying to get them to give a full report in writing, sir. They seem particularly adamant at not obliging the servants of the Crown."

"Your highness, if you will," Lloyd whispered unctuously, apparently having gone over the pain he'd been in. "We, as members of the Special Corps, cannot afford to be inconvenienced at this moment. While we appreciate the little things you're all doing to see what really went wrong back there, we have a job to do, a job which our esteemed patron would very much _appreciate _getting done." The Margrave did not miss the unspoken threat. He was obliged to consent, the doings of the Special Corps didn't concern him in the slightest – unless it involved something as suspicious as having Elevens as part of the crew.

There was Viletta's report to consider, too. He doubted that anyone in this wing had heard of the uprising, but if the Eleven was involved somehow, it would just look bad if he was complacent here.

_Still..._

He shrugged, turning back to the officer. "You can let them go, I see no reason to detain them here any further. " The hunched man literally whooped. "Provided, that they submit a full, individual report to me within the next week. Just for protocol." He concluded, turning back to Lloyd again.

The man had looked like he wanted to whine, but apparently thought better of it as he uttered another nonsensical cry of pain. Dr. Croomy pleasantly agreed to the proposal, "We will be sure to hand them in, Your highness. _And not a day later._"

The two saluted to conclude the meeting, and Jeremiah watched as the woman called out to the Eleven, "Suzaku-kun, let's go." His eyes never left the Eleven's back as the trio left the interrogation room.

Realizing the officer was still standing, Jeremiah also extended his farewell salute. "Carry on, soldier."

"Yes, your highness!"

As he made his way back from overseeing the security details in the building, his commdevice beeped, signalling another call from Viletta.

"We have successfully terminated the traitors, lord. Some of our men were...zealous in uphold your rule. Some of the Elevens sued for mercy by betraying their own comrades, but those fools met their own justified ends soon enough."

The thought of Eleven putting down Eleven, while good for him, was utterly distasteful as a whole. "Good. Any casualties?"

"Not on our end, sir."

"Very well. I would like to assign you a further order, Viletta. There's still another Honorary Britannian here, who goes by the name of Suzaku. I want you to have him under surveillance starting this moment. He should be spending most of his time at the Engineering Bay..."

* * *

She didn't know why there was silence and darkness inside the normally well-lit Student Council "clubroom".

"Um..."

"Ssshhh!" came a voice near her feet. Before she could utter a well-deserved shriek, she was pulled down by two pairs of hands into the shadows underneath the table. Thankfully, the action didn't dislodge her glasses, which would have been very inconvenient in the dark.

"Milly, what-"

"Ssssh!" The blonde student council president's hush was even more insistent. "Gosh, Nina, can't you take the hint and be obediently silent like Shirley back there?" Nina looked over to the orangette, who waved at her sheepishly in greeting.

"But, why?-"

Another hiss. She repeated her inquiry in a lower whisper, "Why are we hiding here like this, Milly?"

"Because, the student council is under threat once again, and our illustrious commander has yet to show his cunning face." Even in a whisper, Milly Ashford's voice could still become quite dramatical.

Oh. That explained some things. No, actually, a lot of things, such as the fact that they were now in a state of high alert, barricading themselves within the clubroom with the curtains closed and the electricity turned off. But a threat from-?

"It's those science club guys again." Milly supplied the answer when she asked. "From what I could tell, it's more of a dispute over Lelouch swiping some of their equipment or something..." Nina didn't miss the guilty look that crossed the President's face when she looked at the strange ice cream synthesizer that had "materialized" in the clubroom a week ago.

"So what are they doing then, Milly?" Nina found it a bit annoying, to be honest. She'd been looking forward to a little time spent tidying up her proposal paper on the computer.

"Nothing much...I mean, okay, I only just found now when I came in. Shirley and Rivalz had spotted the little creeps peeking in through the window when they came in, first thing in the morning."

The bespectacled girl sighed, letting some of her emotions show on her face. Just then, a beep resounded in the desolate room, causing Shirley to shriek.

"It's Rivalz report: as usual he's taking surveillance duty on the 'miscreants'. Hello there, Rivalz, what have you got for us?" Milly talked to the cellphone.

"It's not looking too good, Prez. Those guys seemed to have adapted to Lelouch's past strategies. They're steering clear of the gardens-

(Where, Nina remembered, Lelouch had tricked the members into a little war game where each side would eliminate the other with water balloons. A particular phrasing by Lelouch had made for a loophole where "wet" was a condition for losing, and the sprinklers turning on at that moment had been an effective conclusion to the time)

-but they're covering much of the field with their riders, so-"

"Excuse me?"

"Huh?"

"What do you mean – they have riders? I thought we were only dealing with the science club here," Milly asked, puzzled as the other two were.

"Actually, I think it's more than that, Prez. I think those guys have banded together or something, allies. Like the equestrian club for example. Alone, they're easy things for Lelouch but if they had support from the science club – well I think we're gonna be in for a reckoning here."

"So what, the riders are scouting out and acting as, what was the term for that again..." Milly ran a hand through her wavy golden hair.

"I don't know, but as I said, it really looks bad even if Lelouch comes back somehow...He hasn't come in yet?" The boy on the other line asked.

"Nope, still no sign of our commander." Nina sighed at that. It was true that when it came to these semi-serious and semi-ridiculous standoffs between the student council and some other club that wished to enforce a demand; Lelouch, the enigmatic vice-president was the only one who could turn back the tide – standing triumphant at the end of the day.

(Like that time, she remembered, when the tea ceremony club had ventured on its own one-time standoff. By bribing the food hall's mistress, they'd ensured that tea, a staple drink for the students would be denied them, leading to a situation very similar to that now – of the clubs finally uniting. As the club itself was hardly aggressive, and Milly had refused to open negotiations with the mistress, they could find nothing to do. When Lelouch entered school that afternoon, the first thing he did when apprised by the situation was head for the club's room. They could only surmised what he did inside there, but an hour later the vice-president had emerged, calm and composed, followed by the repentant members who were strangely blushing and giggling.)

"That's just weird..."

"I agree, Lulu's been getting a whole lot weirder lately...I remember him calling me the other day, asking about something in the ghetto was that?..." Shirley muttered absent-mindedly.

"No kidding! Like, just recently, he stranded me in the middle of a chess match! I had to fight the fricking noble all by my-"

"Thanks very much Rivalz," Milly said sweetly as she reached over to cancel the call.

Now, Nina was also as impatient as the rest of them for Lelouch himself to come in and resolve the situation just so she could continue with her work. Not for the last time did Nina regret taking up Milly's offer of a place in the council, so long ago.

"Hey, Nina?" The shy, pigtailed girl glanced back to where the orangette was, seeing the latter hand her a wrapped package of bread. "Hungry?"

_This is going to take a while._

Rivalz Cardemonde stared at his cellphone for a while, taken aback by the sudden termination of the connection. Pursing his lips, he put it away and continued his "surveillance" on the idiots running around on the grounds below.

Once again, they were in another crisis, and the one whom Milly, and quite possibly the rest of the council waited for with unabashed need was one lone, sullen, raven-haired boy.

"Che." _Why is it always that guy?_

_

* * *

_

General Bartley Asprius nervously paced the gray metallic halls of the institute, occasionally rubbing his the bare skin of his head free of the sweat that continued to gather there.

The portly man was the once the appointed overseer of the secretive Code-R Project, a clandestine operation privately backed by the late Prince Clovis. With the latter's unfortunate death, the General had no choice but to sorrowfully carry out the contingency plan, ordering the researchers to continue their work somewhere where the new regime would not wrest from them what secrets they had discovered.

So far, things had been going smoothly – arrangements had been made with certain nobles that had been aligned with the former Viceroy to house the scientists in another remote location in Area Eleven, enabling them to continue their work even with the _glaring _absence of one component of their research. Since they had no idea what had happened to it, the risk of it being traced to them was unsettling to Bartley, not when it could possibly sully Clovis' good name.

More alarming for the balding general was the realization that he was the only one left of the people who'd been close to the slain prince, and undoubtedly he would be sought by whoever would be appointed Viceroy next, adding greatly to the need for him to be finally dissociated with the Project, allowing the scientists free reign by themselves for the time being.

He had to hide, fade away into obscurity within the military heirarchy, to protect Clovis' secret. Sooner or later, the truths of Shinjuku would surface, and he did not want to blemish his former liege by falling to his weakness and spilling everything in a beat. That was why he had to be gone, poof, anonymous as an uninteresting footnote in the celebrated patronage of the Third Prince.

It was an apology – feeble that it was, to the person he'd failed.

* * *

In all her time spent assigned to the Special Corps and working with the eccentric Earl of Asplund, Dr. Cecile Croomy had never seen him _twitch _so much in a single period of time.

The two (three if one counted Suzaku trailing behind) had just arrived back at their assigned research hangar, a place that had only been recently opened by virtue of the Margrave's approval. They'd taken their obligatory rests in the crew's quarters, and had only just returned to the hangar the next day, giving time for their technicians to get back on track. Beyond the gargantuan, metallic double doors stood the pinnacle of Britannian ingenuity, a model that would herald the seventh generation in Knightmare development: the gold-wreathed white knight named the Z-01 "Lancelot".

And it was damaged.

Throughout their travel to and from the Palace, Cecile had watched with growing anxiety as every aspect of Lloyd's body twitched, from his jumpy feet to his brilliant bespectacled head. He'd also been muttering incoherently to himself, and Cecile was certain that the man was emotionally disturbed at the moment.

Said disturbance did not excuse him, however from acting brash and disrespectful of authority, and that was why she'd felt it necessary to step in and intervene, in a manner most physical.

That close encounter, however, did not diminish the twitches. Rather, they returned in a gradually increasing amount, culminating in the epileptic figure who stood in the hangar, emitting a sound that was not unlike that of a silent, restrained shriek.

"Lloyd-san, would you like to have some tea?" Cecile asked the other scientist warmly.

"...Sure...anything," Lloyd managed to squeeze those words in reply as he continued to mutter, gazing desolately at his damaged masterpiece.

"Very well, Suzaku-kun, would you mind keeping an eye on Lloyd while I go get us three some tea?" Cecile smiled at the brown-haired youth.

"Sure, ma'am, but I'd like to decline the offer for tea – I'm just not in the mood right now," the boy replied, looking uncomfortable as he looked away.

"If you say so," she left for the breakroom. The boy never seemed to be in the "mood" for anything she offered, for some reason.

When she returned to the wide-open hangar bearing a tray of her special-brewed tea, her eyes inevitably swept up to take in Lloyd's brain-child, the latest innovation in Knightmare technology – in its bruised, damaged state. Lloyd had said that his baby would never be the same again, but to Cecile's learned eye, she thought that it hadn't taken anything more serious than a dented paintjob. Sure, one of the shoulder-mounted harkens needed to be replaced, and at worst, slight anomalies to its movements as the metallic joints had been strained, but as she'd pointed out the other day: no other Knightmare but his could have survived being crushed under a building.

"That not the point, Cecile-kun!" He'd said with a twitch here or there. "My Lancelot, with its superior mobility, could have dodged that building without a sweat!"

"But Suzaku-kun said he'd already done all he could!" she argued. "And you should remember – it was his first time piloting the Frame. You should be grateful that he was able to get the Lancelot back in one piece."

"Yeah, well so he says," Lloyd said defensively. "As it is, we can only rely on his testimony without the benefit of proper recording devices-"

"And who'd opted not to use the budget assigned to install it?"

She estimated that it wouldn't be that hard to return the Lancelot to its previous, untarnished state, all it required were a few resources diverted to replacing the missing parts. And having a recording system installed of course.

"Once more, Private could you tell me what exactly happened at the ghetto?"she heard Lloyd say as she approached.

"Lloyd-san!" she admonished. "We've been through this already. There's no need to stress him anymore."

"It's fine, Cecile-san. I'm still quite fine on my feet. It's the least I can do to help out." The boy replied reassuredly.

"If you say so," she was doubtful, but if the boy felt it was so, then she had no reason to contradict him. Turning to Lloyd, she handed him one of the mugs on the tray. "Here you go, Lloyd-san."

The other scientist received the cup absentmindedly, still keeping his eyes on the Lancelot's best Devicer. "I'm sorry about having to ask you over and over again, Suzaku-kun." _twitch _"But you must know that I can't overlook things like this happening to my baby! The grand debut of my baby, and it fails to produce impressive results. " _twitch _"I'm thankful that Prince Clovis died, else he'd have laughed about how abysmal the trump card performed-"

"Lloyd-san!" she cut in sharply.

"I was kidding, geez!...okay, Private?" He gestured for the boy to proceed.

The youthful Honorary Britannian straightened his posture before launching into his report, one that the two scientists had already heard the other day. At first, he related the event which had started the whole thing: when Prince Clovis, pressured by difficulties encountered in the ghetto, had called for the Special Corps to lend their support. Lloyd had been only too happy to comply, and so Suzaku was sent on his first ever piloting of a Knightmare Frame. From then on, it was all the boy's testimony of what he'd done, how he'd zoned in on the last known area of disturbance, how he'd been perplexed at the many dead bodies and Fallen Knightmares that littered the desolate streets, and of how he'd finally encountered a mysterious enemy. This last part was what intrigued Lloyd the most.

As per his instincts, the boy had launched his harkens forward in an attempt to disarm and/or disable the other Frame (the enemy was a Knightmare, for that was the only logical conclusion for a figure that size, the boy had said) Surprisingly, not only was the harken blocked, the enemy's defense had also damaged the blade severely, giving it a battered appearance as he retracted it to prepare for a counter-attack.

In the mists of the battlefield, Suzaku could not clearly see what had then attacked him so swiftly and so fiercely. The boy reported that in those tense moments, all he could ever do was sense the enemy's movements and dodge accordingly. He did not know how long the time had passed, but abruptly, the attacks stopped and the Lancelot was left standing in the midst of it, its pilot puzzled but wary. Too late, he found out that the building he'd been using as a landmark was now falling unmistakably on him, so Suzaku had no choice but to-

"And again, why exactly did you do that, Private?" Lloyd interrupted, pinching his chin with another twitch. "One would assume that having a building threatening to crush the living day-the _livingness _out of you would have forced you to retreat back, not meet the object straight on using an untested weapon system." Even now, Cecile found it unbelievable, and also a small comfort of vindication to the Devicer (and the still-to-be perfected MVS). Once again, the two scientists wondered at the boy's reckless courage.

But regardless of their incredulity, there was no other coherently logical explanation as to how the Lancelot had then returned in its current state, with debris covering its body, and with some of its weapons systems broken. The boy had barely enough time for a quick debrief before the disaster had struck, and here they were in the aftermath.

Fingering the mug in his hands thoughtfully, Lloyd brooded silently, with curiously not a twitch in him. The boy had concluded his report, and had again declined Cecile's offer of tea.

"All thoughts point to the indication – that there indeed was a Knightmare of monstrous caliber involved. Its reported capabilities indicate a most troubling precedent for my little baby here-"

"But it also proves the success and efficiency of the Lancelot and Suzaku-kun, doesn't it, Lloyd-san?" Cecile pressed. "It was able to cut through a collision with a tonnage of falling concrete."

"Great, how many more building-type Knightmare do we have to kill again?" Lloyd replied sarcastically. "What we need - what I need is more data about this intruder, so I can make sure that it doesn't scratch my baby again."

Just then, the lights directly above the Lancelot turned on, illuminating the Frame in question – as if it had given its silent support for its creator.

" - and more data on the Lancelot in a real battle. I apologize, Private, but if we are to continue with our project, we have to have data where you do end up victorious. A retreat just won't cut it for our...benefactors."

"Of course, sir. If you will have me, I shall be glad to continue serving you on the Lancelot." The youth bowed sincerely. Cecile, who was watching, smiled at the serious gesture. Then, turning to the now cheery Earl, she said, "Lloyd-san, your tea's going to get cold."

"Hm...? Oh right, thanks, Cecile-kun," the scientist murmured appreciatively as he raised the cooling tea to his lips. She made a small smile appreciatively,

"Hrmmm..." Lloyd's eyes had lit up in alarm after taking a sip.

"Is something wrong with the tea?", she asked concernedly as Lloyd waved her away, his cheeks swollen for some reason.

"Hmm...mmm...hm-hmmm..."

"I can't understand you if you talk with your mouth closed." She scolded slightly. Regardless of that, Lloyd shook his head and swiftly strode away across the hangar towards the exit.

"Lloyd-san, your mug!-"

"Mmmmm!" the other scientist moaned in protest before disappearing. Turning to the boy, who was scratching his head, Cecile raised an eye and wondered, "I wonder what that was about..."

Just then, the two of them heard another one of Lloyd's muffled moans, louder this time, coming from the exit. As the two of them whipped their heads back in alarm to look at the exit, they were astounded by what they saw.

A whole line of soldiers marched in unison, weapons drawn, across the hangar. At their head were two distinct figures, one an unfamiliar, black-skinned woman and the other the Margrave they'd met the day before. Trailing behind the line was Lloyd, who was brandishing the empty mug like a weapon.

"Kururugi Suzaku," The Margrave coldly fixed his eyes on Suzaku, who was still wearing a look of disbelief. "By my right as Viceroy under the Crown, I am placing you under arrest."

"Why, whatever for?" A stream of protests issued from her and Lloyd's mouth.

The stern-faced Viceroy glanced at her direction for a split second before once again locking firm gazes with the boy. "For his suspected involvement in the murder of Prince Clovis."

* * *

"How did you find the boy, Viletta?" They were sitting at the back of a car, being driven back to the Palace. They'd just concluded the dramatic arrest of the suspect Eleven, with Jeremiah giving orders for the boy to be transported to a cell until further investigation, overriding the nigh-manic protests of the Earl of Asplund.

"He seemed pretty normal for a soldier, level-headed when you arrested him, but I could sense the ferocity, small that it was, in those little Eleven eyes of his." The woman answered, "In fact, he's seems to be quite calmer compared to the rest of his brethren, who I imagine would have charged at us with that suicidal fervor their kind usually have."

_That's what I'd brought the soldiers for, _Jeremiah thought to himself. Although he would have been able to handle the boy himself, using his bare hands at that. You didn't spend a significant part of your life in the academy and learn nothing about close quarter combat.

"My lord, when will you start to interrogate the boy? I can have one or two men start drilling him immediately."

"Later, Viletta. As Viceroy, I believe I have the right and the power to interrogate him myself," he said firmly. That was not the only reason. One other was the fact that he was only operating on the less than hundred percent chance of the boy being responsible. But as there had been no other Honorary Britannians in the Settlement, he had to settle on putting the blame on a single one. "I believe I shall 'officially' start it after we've publicly proclaimed our Lord's death. It would make more sense, chronologically. Again, it will have to be later, after everything's more...settled."

"Do I have leave to alert the media groups for this, then?"

"We do not need all, as we shall need to carve a positive image, I believe leaking our plans to someone in HiTV will work. Find one of their most senior correspondents."

The woman inclined her head in deference. The Margrave rubbed his hands for a bit before turning to another topic, "It seems that General Bartley has yet to resurface. I believe that now would be a good time to remind High Command to make due on my appointment as Viceroy."

"Then, as before, I congratulate you on your promotion, sir." Viletta managed to say respectfully. "I believe Sir Kewell would also be glad to hear of your swift climb."

Jeremiah raised his eyebrows, bemused at the apparent restraint the other one had exercised to keep a straight face. "If the man decides to come back however, I believe we will then have to move faster," the Margrave made a significant look.

"Do you plan on having us Purists moving in, then?" Viletta's eyes widened in understanding.

Jeremiah raised a finger. "Later, only after I've managed to woo certain people over. And only after General Bartley's condition has been confirmed. We don't want the people thinking that we'd been too eager to take control, right?" The Margrave's eyes glinted as he turned his head to gaze out the car window.

"Very good, sir."

The black-colored vehicle slowed down in front of a checkpoint. Jeremiah nodded at the soldier who peered in through the open window, and after a beat and a salute, the latter waved them through the barrier. As the car sped to its destination, Viletta caught the look on her new superior's face, one that reflected an eager, primal energy.

* * *

"Four-letter word. Adjective. Procreation?"

"Bore."

"No, it doesn't fit."

"Um...bear?"

"Oooh...thanks Nina." Shirley whispered as she wrote down the answer on the puzzle paper in front of her. The feeble light from her cellphone was the only thing that illuminated the darkened surroundings.

"Just this and...yes, I can answer this...and- Yes! I'm done!" The orangette made a silent cheer, waving a victory sign at Nina.

The bespectacled girl only shrugged in response, her head propped lazily on her elbows. Nina had already resigned herself to wasting her time reclining on the floor beneath the table.

After putting away the paper, Shirley rubbed her hands together, her eyes looking for something else to do. "What do you think we can do next, Nina?"

Without replying, the pigtailed girl pointed to the President's prone form, where the pleasant sounds of a sleeper were being produced.

"What do you mean?" asked the orangette. "Wake her?" Nina nodded. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"That's never a good idea, unless you wanna be pulled into a hot, tight embrace." The two of them started at Milly's sudden voice. Even in the darkness, the two of them could see one very much awake blue-tinged eye open. "I wasn't sleeping, you two. You have to learn the difference between that - and what's the term..._basking._"

"You were basking, Milly-san?"

"Right-o," the blonde stretched her arms as she returned to a reclining position on one side. After one small sigh, she asked, "Nothing yet?"

"Nothing yet," Nina repeated for Shirley, adding in her own small sigh.

"Ooooh...and it's a really fine day outside too! I wanna bask under the warm, pleasant sun," the President moaned.

_Then why don't you just stop this foolishness?_ Nina wanted to say, but instead she settled for, "So why not a concession, Milly?"

"A concession!" Milly all but exclaimed. "You're asking the unflappable Student Council: The Bastion of Reason in this Academy to bend over for these guys? Never!"

_But Prez, you do concessions all the time, especially when it comes to the "Milly challenges that Lelouch/Lulu hates", _was the next thought that was shared and unspoken by the other two girls. In response, they smiled noncommitally and shrugged in defeat.

(Nina remembered how one particular Milly Challenge had pitted the sullen vice-president against the music club, thereafter known as _That Incident_ throughout the school.)

Taking a cue from the other girls' silence, Milly continued on with her tirade, "Speaking of concessions like they're cheap trinkets to give out...No, the day the Student Council shall stoop to compromise will be the first day when Milly Ashford steps down as President! The clubs' persistence should be met by our own dedicated tenacity – a will that is most certainly _Ashfordian, _if you will, fueled by the tactical ingenuity that is the mind of our esteemed vice-president..."

(Milly could be well be a good orator, Nina drily thought, remembering the speeches that she'd given over the intercom through the many times she'd issued a Milly Challenge: volatile statements that had inflamed many to throw caution to the wind and infuriate Lelouch.)

"...and that is why, even though the day should be good for a picnic, though we sacrifice usage of the synthesizer, and although we wait in the damp, dark heat with bated breath, we cannot allow a breach in the sanctuary that is our Student Council," they saw the President start to wind down. "But now that I've mentioned it, I could do with some gold cheeseberry right now," Milly muttered guiltily.

"Good...then, compromise?" Nina smiled to her full; a rare sight. The other two raised their eyebrows, and predictably Milly scrunched up her face and huffed, "Weren't you listening, Nina? Not even the thought of an instant, cold treat can make me surrender our fortress!"

Deciding to press her advantage, Nina pouted (another rare sight), "Really? Aww, but I'd really like to experiment with all the _flavors _that can be mixed up...imagine, there are only three hundred or more triple combinations that we have yet to try, and we have all the time and supplies in the world..." Milly was not an avid sweet tooth in any way, but she had shown extreme interest in tasting all the possible flavors that could be gotten from the synthesizer.

_Wow, is Nina's THAT desperate or something? _Shirley thought as she glanced discreetly at the bespectacled girl, who was now clasping her hands together in a sort of pseudo-trance.

"...chococheesenut, cranstrawberry X, mappleberry, oh the possibilities, Milly, we have to try it..." Nina opened her eye slightly to see what effect she'd had on the adamant President, expecting the latter to be already in the mood to issue a retraction; but what she saw was Milly instead grinning devilishly at her like a cat that had found its meal.

"Hehhh~~ What's gotten into our Nina all of a sudden?" The blonde started crawling to the other girl slowly, gracefully, _predatorially. _Nina saw her mistake that moment as she watched the blonde's grin grow wider with each centimeter. Too late, she hastily dropped the saccharine facade. "Brazenly opening your shy, meek, self up, is there something to this, I wonder?"

Shirley watched as Nina slowly retreated, sporting a blush that could not be missed even in the dark. Seeing this apparently gave the advancing president further impetus as she swiftly pinned the other's hands to the floor, impeding escape.

"So what's the big story, N. I. N. A.? Have you got something really important to do that you'd risk performing such...un-Nina-like actions? Hm?" Shirley knew this position. Although they were sprawled on the ground, the orangette did not miss the provocative pose, the close proximity of the two's faces, and the contrast in the dominant-recessive faces. Many times had the President done that to her, and with lesser success, to Lulu, before.

"I guess it's time to...tickle it out of you!" Milly wasted no time digging into the protesting Nina, who used everything she had to throw off the tickle-crazed monster before her. She had no luck, as Milly was dangerously strong, and it could not be faulted that Nina's laughter would start to echo in the dark room.

"Come on..."

"Nyihihih-no- there's nothing- just- ahahahah-home-w-w-work-"

"There's still more to that right?~"

The sight of the President already using more than just her hands to carry out the torture seemed to stir the orangette, who promptly exclaimed in indignation, "Madam President! Behave yourself!"

She was alarmed to see the President turn to her next, apparently having seen another potential target. As the blonde left a panting Nina on the floor, Shirley slowly backed up, silently regretting having called attention to herself.

"But it's just so curious~~ Shirley...I mean, aren't you curious to know too...?"

Crap. She had already breached the walls of her personal space and was already within uncomfortable closeness. The last thing that Shirley saw was the predatory gleam on Milly's eyes before...

The cheerful ringtone of Milly's cellphone sounded through the room just then, bringing relief and an almost heartfelt disappointment to the orangette's and the blonde's faces, respectively. After shooting a you-wont-get-off-that-easy look, the president looked at her little screen and immediately, her thumb sought the button to receive the call.

Curious, Shirley tilted her head as she saw the playful look melt easily from Milly's face to be replaced by that of concern.

"Nunna-chan?" The other two started, Nina sitting up instantly from her daze.

* * *

If his adjutants had looked closely at the new Viceroy's face, they would have seen his face twist into a not-altogether unpleasant expression as his current conversation with the HiTV representative went on.

"...How very forthright of you."

The pony-tailed man who stood at attention before him merely nodded, replying, "I'm afraid so, sir."

"Have you ever thought of enlisting? The army- _we_ could certainly use more capable men like you." _Hah, he was getting good at this. _He'd said that in a mere half-jest to the man, who did seem competent enough to piece together a suitable memorial program for the fallen Prince within a day – all despite his his apparent and blatant honesty. Thinking to test the man's nature, he'd made that offer smoothly, hoping to catch the media man off guard.

He was slightly mollified in seeing the man's lips curl as he shook his head slightly in the negative, "I'm afraid that line of work's really not my cup of tea, Your Highness."

Jeremiah nodded, bringing his hands together on the desk in front of him and leaning back. "You prefer the civilian sector, then? No matter, there is another favor I would like to ask you."

From the corners of his eyes, the Margrave saw his two adjutants share a swift look. "Tomorrow night, Suzaku Kururugi will be transferred to his court martial..." He then kept his eyes fixed on the media man's.

"I recommend we line the way with good, _patriotic _Britannians."

"Excellent, good to see you catch on quick." The Margrave turned to his adjutants. "We'll have to be sure the criminal's face can be clearly seen." They both nodded in confirmation.

"Good. That will be all then, Mr. Reid. Be sure to give HiTV my thanks." Diethard Reid bowed respectfully before making his exit from the office.

"Now that we've got that settled, I believe we can now focus on other matters." He turned to look more clearly at his two adjutants, who now stood ready.

The sudden reappearance of Prince Clovis' last retainer had galvanized his supporters in the Purist faction, ready to act if the fool was going to try any method to go over Jeremiah's head. So far, the General had been wont to leave matters on the Settlement to the Margrave, instead focusing on the details of the burial of the Prince and many of his noble retainers.

Jeremiah had then found it prudent to have the man detained for "investigation", if only to further cement his power within Area Eleven by squaring away the potentially troublesome incompetent.

"What are the latest results of the investigation?" the new viceroy asked first with a grimace.

The blonde man saluted, bringing up a sheaf of papers to read from. "The third probe team has approximately determined that the ones responsible for that suspicious hole had made their escape through the sewers and into an opening that leads into the sea.

"I have ordered security cameras to be placed just in case, and it is in my opinion that more care should be given to the underground passages. Those places are literal rat tunnels in which rebels can freely move about."

Jeremiah readily agreed to this assessment. If there was one thing that he'd always thought was so glaringly amiss in the security detail of the Settlement, it was the lack of attention given to the vast underground – labyrinthine, criss-crossing passages where any enterprising Eleven rebel group could hide in with impunity. The majority of these had once been the subways of Old Tokyo, while some were ancient, subterranean passages that ran deep into the earth. Because of the unstable terrain, putting Knightmares in was out of the question; and because of the million ways in which an ambush could be orchestrated, sending in small teams was impractical.

That was something he'd had to rectify in the future, as Viceroy of a land that still brimmed with the rebellious fervor of many nationalistic holdouts, who always seemed to pop up with almost cockroach-like tendency.

"...the teams have also successfully extracted all the bodies from the wreck, and the teams I've slated to salvage the wreck itself are ready to start," Kewell looked up, sharing a quick look with Viletta. After the latter nodded slightly, the man continued, "We have also recovered several fragments of a certain bomb material within the remains. It appears that-"

"Indeed. Rebels." Jeremiah's voice bled frigidity and surety. "While the possibility of an internal, abominable act from our own ranks cannot be discounted," the other two adjutants made expressions of appropriate disgust as they followed the Margrave's train of thought, "The situation that surrounded His Majesty's death lends credence to the possibility of Eleven – possibly, Honorary Britannian involvement."

The three members of the fiercely foreigner-antagonistic Purist faction shared a determined look. While the lone Honorary, Kururugi Suzaku, had that possibility of not being involved in the sinister plot, there was no other method that could be done to show a clear, public vindication of Prince Clovis' murder. Pulling in other Honorary Britannians from outlying bases was costly and time-consuming – hardly practical in the face of increasing demands for a public statement from Area Eleven authority; and it would take months for Britannian intelligence to find out who among the rebel groups had been responsible for the attack. By then, Jeremiah predicted that he would have rooted out many, if not most of the wretched rats from their holes.

And of course, pinning the blame on at least one Honorary Britannian furthered their organization's aims – spelling the end of the Honorary system in Area Eleven and also dealing a deadly blow to the system's defenders in the rest of the Britannian areas.

"Viletta. I believe now is the perfect time to initiate our plans using the Eleven," The new Viceroy stood from his seat, his tall figure filled with a feeling of determined purpose. "Best not let His Majesty's loyal subjects waiting any longer for answers – and the filthy Elevens for their well-deserved justice."

His subordinates and one-time co-Knights smirked. "All Hail Britannia."

* * *

"Good morning, Nunna-chan! It's been quite some time, everyone in the council's missed you," A warm feeling washed through her. So unlike the past few minutes when she'd been a frustrated lioness.

"Milly-san," Uh-oh. Milly was no counselor, but she recognized the tone. Anxiety. Helplessness. "Does Lelouch happen to be there?"

Ah, so it's that guy again, huh? Always bringing trouble on his own sister and his friends, "Haven't seen our crafty vice-president's head nor hair in about the same amount of time as you, Nunna-chan! In fact, we were sort of hoping you'd know his whereabouts..."

"So he's not there?..." the voice trailed off. Another bad sign. She let her eyes meet the others' – keeping her "Milly face" still on.

"Would you happen to know where your troublesome brother could possibly be, Nunna-chan?"

Still silence. Once again, she wondered where the two of them lived. It would be so much easier to talk it out in person. So much easier to get _close, _in a sense, if she knew where the siblings spent the rest of their time.

The mask was still on, but she knew the others would be able to detect what was wrong soon enough. They weren't her minions for nothing, after all.

After another long, uncomfortable silence, the tiny voice spoke again. "Thank you, Milly-san. If Lelouch comes here, I'll be sure to call you again."

"Ah, wait-"

She stared ruefully at the "hang-up" symbol. So many, many questions. She met their curious faces with her puzzled own. They did not miss the inevitable frown – signaling something not altogether good.

The booming voice from the intercom: a fresh, startling contrast from the high, confident President's own, alerted them to something possibly worse.

"All students are requested to head to the auditorium in short order for an important announcement from your principal. All classes shall be suspended until further notice. I repeat..."

"Our noble Prince Clovis has been taken from us! He had fought for peace and justice against all of the renegade Elevens! He died a martyr!"

The Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald's voice echoed across the world, carried from TV terminal to TV terminal through the exclusive coverage of the HiTV media network. His stern countenance spoke of a collected front, grimly confident in his role of informing the rest of the world of the unfortunate news.

"...but in spite of our collective sorrow, we must still carry out His will..."

In spite of his grim facade, it seemed to anyone who looked closely that there was an undertone of genuine grief present – something that the truly observant would not miss, and subsequently wonder about,

"...despite everything, we cannot falter, and we shall not fear – for the Emperor is with us! All Hail Britannia!"

Adeptly choreographed, the network chose that exact time to zoom out, revealing a line of uniformed soldiers standing ready behind the new Viceroy, along with an obvious line of large, metallic limbs that could only have belonged to Knightmares. Unintentional or not, the action sent a clear message to anyone who watched. To the intended audience: the inhabitants of Area Eleven, it was a clear sign that they were still safe – that their military was ready and able to take on any enemy. To some in the homeland, it was a bold, if not brazen statement from the Margrave, who'd now emerged as a new and unknown player in Britannian politics. To others however, the line of known Purists was an alarming sight, and it had some of them frantically making plans to counter it. To the enemies of the Empire, many that they were, the death of one major Imperial prince was certainly not something to be mourned.

"But something to take into account, regardless." The grief-less eyes of Prince Schneizel considered the chess-board set up in front of him.

Both the Chinese Federation and the European Union issued their own brief condolences, before turning to other, more important matters of state.

* * *

A chaotic hubbub followed the conclusion of the emergency school assembly as Nina Einstein made her way out of the spacious auditorium.

The "siege", as Milly had called it, had been preemptively lifted, at first leading to the President's vow to pay back her grandfather for being responsible.

The childish feeling had disappeared when the announcement had come, and at once a solemn pall had seemed to fall on the entire student body, rambunctious President blonde included.

As classes had been cancelled for the rest of the day, Nina made good on her goal and returned to the clubroom to conclude her project.

The three other members had each cocked their respective heads at her as she furiously typed away at the computer, heedless of greeting or time. Nina only noted the President's sly look – one which spoke of a a future dangerous event.

But no matter. She had to work, for she had a deadline, a personal one to meet. So she continued to type away, even after the rest of the council had bidden their barely heard goodbyes, persistently keeping her eyes on the screen.

She was surprised then, to find out that when the deadline time had come, she had still not completed her assignment. Mentally bonking herself in the head, Nina concluded her session and left the clubroom.

She walked out of the grounds in a hurry. The pigtailed girl felt an unnatural emotion fill her, something that was totally unheard of to this Einstein.

Yes, despite everything, Milly was right. She had a date.

To be precise, she was looking forward to a date, her first one ever – _ever._

Was it really a shock for this one? To Nina, it was. At first, it had been nothing more than perceived jest.

She could almost sense that the boy had been put up to it, so naturally she had every right to coldly decline the offer. However, the boy had been persistent, and had also been quite sincere in his perceived intentions.

Eventually, Nina had given in...just a little bit. And a little bit.

Quite surprisingly, she'd slowly (but surely) warmed up. (and Milly hadn't gotten wind of it yet.)

Because of that, she'd then finally agreed to the date. Hey, it had taken that much time for her to get there, right?

And if it was genuine, then she'd have one up over all the rest of the council. Even the President. She blushed slightly in pride at that thought.

She then found him leaning on a railing that was close to their meeting spot. Smile, greet. Would you like something to eat?

After, would you then like to come see the trial march with me?

* * *

" _I ask you again, Suzaku Kururugi: were you or were you not involved in the assassination of Prince Clovis and a number of other Britannian soldiers?"_

_Round green eyes met piercing orange, and suddenly the world seemed to spin as he was knocked to the ground. A burning pain on his cheek, so familiar now, reminded the youth that he was still there – that he was alive._

"_Answer the question Eleven! My men's tolerance for your arrogant behavior wanes!"_

"_You're making a mistake." He shifted his bound arms and feet. " I have not the slightest motive of killing my sworn liege, nor would I ever forsake my vows to the Crown!"_

_Another strike to his gut. If it were not for his training, he would have cried out. His interrogators were treated to a mere grunt, instead._

"_Don't think that we've not sifted through your troublesome life, Kururugi. You are the child of Japan's last acting Prime Minister are you not? Your motive here seems to be quite clear."_

_Another blow sends him reeling across the floor. He can feel their hate-filled gazes follow him._

"_You're wrong!" He breathed. "I've done nothing!"_

On the bright, cold and hard cell floor, his bruises sang him to painful sleep.

When he awoke, it was to the scrutinizing glance of his superior in the Special Corps on the other side of the cell. At first he felt a rush, perhaps Lloyd had been successful in appealing his arrest?

"No such luck, I'm afraid Private. We've tried handing in our own testimonies, but the court somehow deemed it inadmissible." Regret seemed to stain his superior's voice.

Finding his own voice, he said, "It's fine, Lloyd-san. I have the absolute faith in our judicial system. It is in the courts where the truth can come to light..."

Hearing another voice gasp, he fixed his blurred gaze onto his other superior, Cecile standing near the other scientist.

After glancing for a beat at his colleague, the bespectacled scientist continued, "I expect there'll be more smoke and mirrors than anything. The 'truth' is scarce of late..."

"Lloyd-san," Cecile's voice urged. "Perhaps if we appeal to the Prince...if we show him the partial data, then - "

"I have tried contacting him, but he appears to be quite enmeshed in the summit; when he does come back, I'm afraid it'll all be too late."

"Yes, but-"

"Is that altruism or humanitarianism, I sense?" There was a faint, teasing amusement in the voice.

"Lloyd-san!" Cecile admonished.

Suzaku felt the scientist's piercing cyan gaze on him again. He shuddered at the scrutiny. "Such a shame..." Lloyd muttered. "And you were the most important part too...As it is, the Purists intend on making an example out of you, if the new Viceroy's allegiance are any indication..."

"Why? What is it that they want with me?"

After considering him for a second, Lloyd replied, "As an Honorary Britannian, you are in a special position, of sorts. If you are found guilty - and I have the suspicion that the court will make it so, they have every chance of pushing for the abolishment of the Honorary Britannian system."

Cecile said with slight annoyance, "Have they forgotten what the Honorary System was founded for?"

Once again, Lloyd spared a raised eyebrow for his colleague. "Is that-" He faltered at the look she gave. He was about to protest, when the two of them heard the boy's steeled voice.

"If that's the way people - " a proud glint entered his emerald eyes "the _world_ works, then I will be glad to accept my fate and leave it."

To that, his superiors had no answer.

The faint reflection he saw on the barrier reminded him of another resolved face - wrathful features lit by the gloomy sunset rays. A fateful vow was made, just as now, and his soul cringed at the grim implication it brought.

* * *

"Dangit woman, I _told _you, the kid's been there, and he's made off with some of my stuff already!"

"I was merely quadruple-checking, you rat-brained imbecile. I'm surprised he was even interested in anything you made."

"Genius recognizes sheer genius, woman. Were it not for his... present orientation, I'm sure we'd have gotten along just fine in the workshop."

"That thought scares and annoys me to no end, moron."

"Quiet. The two of you. Back to your workshops. Much work yet. Much work for you."

Silence. A shuffling of footsteps heralded a ringing period of silence.

"Did he take anything else? System? Terminal? Parts?"

"No, new-boss-dude. Just the mask. In fact, he seemed to like it very much."

"I see. And is system active?"

"Based on my scans, she hasn't seemed to have activated it yet."

"I see...Is mask connected to Tokyo network?"

"I haven't gotten around to it yet – why? You think he wants that functionality added in to it?"

"I believe so. He has chosen path. He has chosen _THAT _mask. Have feeling that it will continue to be the one he uses."

"Huh...and here I designed it for something that Subj- the other one would use."

"Don't think so. Not for now, at least. You are dismissed. Await mission results."

"Will do, new-boss-man. "

Elsewhere over the waves...

"Milly-sama, I have done as you requested...Yes, I can see the two of them...They haven't seen me yet...They are heading for the parade...I can simply hide, Milly-sama...How many pictures?...Yes, I understand...Very well..."

* * *

"Have the Kururugis contacted at all?" the question rang out, echoing loudly what many in the vast room wanted to ask.

"No, they haven't said a word for quite some time now. We'd hoped that young Suzaku's arrest would force them to come out and say something, but so far..." The green uniformed man leaning on a wooden pillar shrugged to a group of similarly dressed men huddle on the polished floor near him.

"Even if they wanted to, they could never muster the power to do anything about it," said another voice. "The only way I could see that boy getting free would be if the people from Kyoto stepped in, and that's _highly _unlikely."

The men gathered here were all Elevens – _Japanese, _ they would insist most fiercely, even to the point of death; and they consisted some of the upper hierarchy of the Japanese Liberation Front: the largest and most powerful rebel group still active in Area Eleven.

"What word from the cells in Tokyo?" came a battle-hardened, gravelly voice.

"We've received no word from Kouzuki's group, which is probably the last one in Tokyo." Every jaw in the room tightened at that. It had already been three years, and not even their sponsors in Kyoto could pinpoint the exact cause of the systematic decimation of the cells within range of the Settlement. As far as they knew, it was a top-secret, and grudgingly effective shadow operation. "I'm surprised they've managed to last this long."

Following a loud grunt, another voice reminded them, "We still have the issue of the boy to consider. Although he has forsaken his country for the farcical comfort of a detestable title, he is still the Prime Minister's son."

"And more than that," interjected another, "he is still, in spite of it, a child of Japan. It will not go well for the morale of our countrymen if he is so publicly put down."

"But what can we do?" challenged a voice. "As we all know, we can hardly count on any support from within Tokyo anymore. With the Britannians on high alert, it will be foolhardy to assault them for the sake of one man!"

"Then perhaps, we need something more than mere strength for this." said a mustached, round-faced man. He turned to direct the gazes in the room to a single solitary figure, sitting cross-legged quite some ways from them. The man's chiseled, battle-hardened face was sunk in deep thought, as if meditating some thought. Before him was a sheathed katana, seemingly just as ponderous as the man. "What do you think, Tohdoh?"

The man opened his slanted eyes, revealing a deadly, yet dull gleam. "We should not get involved in this public execution."

Some figures in the room visibly relaxed, while others, like the round-faced man's, tensed. "That's cowardly! You're Tohdoh of Miracles, right?"

The eyes regarded the man for a beat before closing once more. "There is a difference between miracles and foolhardiness. If the boy is to be saved by some miracle, it must be by a hand greater than man's."

* * *

In a small, dingy room somewhere in the ghettos of Old Tokyo, a certain red-haired teenager started awake, alert eyes quickly searching the room before settling on the ringing cellphone on the table opposite.

Rising from her uncomfortable sleeping position near the door, Kallen Kouzuki – Stadtfeld to her Britannian acquaintances, sought the phone and received the call.

"Ohgi-san?" Her tentative words carried a hint of hopefulness.

"Yes, Kallen, it's me." The reply erased all the tension in the girl's body as she exhaled a good, long, relieved puff. "Thank god, I'd hoped- when I woke- I thought I'd be back, but then- I was here, so I assumed that- it's so good to hear your voice, Ohgi-san!"

The man's tone was slightly relieved in turn, though it was tinted with resignation and sadness. "It's good to hear from you too, Kallen. I had Tamaki drop you off there, and watch over you to a minimum before leaving." His voice lowered a beat. "Then I ordered him to lay low for a bit. In fact, we're all laying low for a bit."

"Why? What about- what happened to the mission? To the device?"

A sigh. Then the man's voice became urgent, and firm. "Kallen, listen to me. The operation was a failure. Nagata...we never heard from him since you'd reported that you got separated. We can only assume the worst, since he hasn't contacted us since...since the..." the man's voice trailed off, allowing Kallen to respond.

"Maybe he's laying low too! I mean, he's gotta be if he found himself surrounded by those Britannians. Sure, that probably means the device is gone, but..."

"Kallen?" Ohgi's voice returned, its firmness restored. "Please listen to me very closely. The reason why we suspect that there's no hope for Nagata...is because the Britannians have killed everyone in the ghetto."

Silence. Then, "What?" The redhead's face twisted in disbelief. "What do you-"

"Kallen, please listen." the voice tried desperately to soothe, in spite of it threatening to break. "Right after we lost contact with your Frame, I ordered everyone to drop everything and retrieve you. Hell, it was chaos out there, so I really didn't think our plan would work out anymore. And after we found you, lying there, they...look, I'm not really sure what happened, there was a big explosion, and then moments later, every single unit they got down there started really hunting for people. They were merciless, I- we had no choice but to make a run for it. We ran from all the screaming – Tamaki wanted to stay behind but because you were still..." the voice wavered once more.

"Damnit, Ohgi, why didn't you do anything?" The girl's expression was a mask of rage now. Her hand trembled on the phone as she clutched her suit with the other. "What use is our cause if there's no one to fight it _for_?"

"Our hands were tied, Kallen." The grim tone settled in. "With you as a liability, I had to make a judgment call. _We had to survive. _You can take it out on me later, when we've all met up again."

"But what about all those people, Ohgi!" her voice was a near screech.

"Kallen." the tone was final, or it seemed to be. "After you've recovered, I want you to go back to your school." Raising his voice to overpower the strong protest that was coming, he continued, "As I've said, we all need to cool down and take a breather after the last. I know...I _understand _how you feel, but right now, that's about all we can do.

"Please, do as I say. Whatever you're thinking, please put that aside. Please remember Naoto – he would not have wanted you to throw your life away meaninglessly."

Kallen's teary eyes widened. "How dare you mention his-"

"Kallen." His tone was set, the decision final. "Please."

After cutting off the connection, the redhead took out all her pent-up frustration first with her phone, then the bare-thin walls of the room. _Damnit, damnit, damn Ohgi, damn Britannians, damnitttt..._

Soon the raging girl dissolved into a crumpled, sobbing pile on the floor. Her rage spent, she lay on the floor, rubbing a faded photograph. Her glazed eyes sought the pleasant expression on the man who stood to the side, and as she did so, it was all she could do to stop her mounting rage from crushing the yellowed paper in her hands.

"_Onii-chan..." _she sobbed. She'd failed. She didn't know how, but she knew she did. She'd failed her countrymen, she'd failed the group, she'd failed his dream.

And all because a stupid...

Her eyes shot up, momentarily forgetting the grief. Hazily, she remembered a face, so distinctly Britannian in looks. It was the last thing she remembered seeing before the darkness. _Like one of those Britannian pretty-boys...only, what was he doing in front of me? _Unexpectedly, she shivered. She remembered the eyes. If she didn't know any better, those violet orbs might've been the ones to put her to sleep back there...

Maybe. Her thoughts returned to earth. There was no time for pondering – she needed to think about Ohgi's words, and the days that were to come.

* * *

The grand stage had been set, the characters assembled, and the audience prepped, as the sheepish sun waved goodbye over the horizon. Just as usual, the vast neon array of the Settlement lent its brilliance to the night.

Along a particular highway that cut its way across the Settlement, noisy masses of civilians lined the way on either side. The atmosphere that every person felt was particularly charged, as the crows eagerly awaited the opening of the first act.

A ways behind the throng were parked several vans with the hiTV logo painted on the sides. Close to each were several camera crews already set up, with black wires snaking from their devices to the closest truck. The airways thrummed with each crew's communication with the others, updating and streaming information by the minute.

At the center of it all was hiTV's senior correspondent that was assigned to cover this news. Diethard Reid had spent the afternoon placing the camera crews on strategic sites along the highway as well as keeping touch with his contacts in the military. When confirmation of tonight's attraction had arrived, Reid had then requested his network to begin the dissemination of the upcoming event, an act which would bring in a number of curious citizens to the place. These would then fulfill the condition the Viceroy had given him.

His network was only too happy to oblige with his request, as his exclusive selection by the new Viceroy to cover the event had given them assurance of a monopoly of Area Eleven's airwaves that night.

Standing outside his van while holding a hot mug, he could almost feel the excitement in the warm night wind that blew. Briefly, the pony-tailed man wondered if the newly appointed Viceroy might be the novel break he'd pined for. He'd wasted far too much of his life pandering to stuffed royals.

A few more hours later, he could see that the size of the crowd had increased. Already there was much jostling among them, and the air was thick with the buzz of anticipation. In the meantime, his crews were already positioned, preliminary coverage done and bored stiff from the time spent waiting for the main part.

"Camera 5's a little slow. What's wrong, Charles? Your team having problems?" Reid paced around the inside of the command van, his eyes scanning over the multitude of screens. His hand was poised next to the comm-device attached to his ear. "The studio? Let them wait. Nothing's been pushed back, everything's going according to the schedule!"

He watched as the reporter placed nearer to the Palace suddenly spoke, "I- I can see them! They have the suspect!"

"There, you see?" He confidently told his subordinate before cutting off the connection. His pleased expression soured instantly. _What a sham. I'm as corrupt as any of them. _Still, there was no denying the necessity of his job. He scanned the other images of the crowd again before turning to the image of the transported suspect.

Suzaku Kururugi stood on top of the transport, his body still bound tightly to restrict movement. On either side of him were posted two masked soldiers, who kept their live weapons trained on the suspect. Half the time, his bruised face was lit by the street-light, see by the jeering crowd; and the other half spent in brief, safe darkness.

Behind them, Viceroy Jeremiah Gottwald and his two adjutants rode sternly on top of their Knightmare Frames. One might have thought this to be too flimsy of a security detail, but the truly intelligent would have known full well that several squads of Knightmares were also in standby, away from the broadcasted lane.

As the cameras tracked the convicted youth, the designated reporters rattled on about the crimes he had been suspected of committing, of his known connection to the old Eleven regime, and any other detail they wanted to squeeze in. Reid had made sure to stuff all the inane details of the broadcast into this part of the coverage.

Elsewhere, inside a very much alight clubroom, three teenagers were watching the ongoing broadcast. Milly Ashford leaned over in her place in the table and poked a dozing orangette from her sleep.

"Breakfast! I'd like that very much Lulu!"

The excitable girl spluttered, cheeks reddening when she saw the other two raising their collective eyebrows at her. "You're not watching? The program's about to start."

Shirley looked over at the TV screen before twisting her lip uncomfortably. "I'm not really that excited to see some guy being convicted or anything..."

Milly gave her a sympathetic look as Rivalz shrugged in his turn, licking his vanilla cone.

Suzaku flinched slightly at the glares again, willing himself to look forward with all the dignity his beliefs could muster. The transport was taking its sweet time, allowing the jeers and insults being hurled at him by the enraged populace to persist in his ears for so long. _How could they only see what was before them? _

Were they truly that blind? He'd done nothing to warrant this treatment. Did they so easily believe that he was actually capable of doing what they said he'd done?

Behind him, Jeremiah was inwardly pleased at the arrangements Diethard Reid had made. The cameras were there, never losing sight of the criminal's face, yet so strategically placed as to also keep sight of the shifting crowd, a screen of eyes that had already condemned the suspect to his fate. Through it all, the loyal new Viceroy performed the duties expected of him with grim and stoic grace; even going so far as to delay the Prince's memorial service so that justice will be done.

Inwardly, his subordinates were also pleased. Although they sometimes doubted the man's especial bravado whenever it came to different situations, there was no doubt that he strove for success. And they were very interested to see where that success lead to.

"...voices of scorn, voices of anger, growing ever louder! Voices bearing testament to a people's love of their Prince – raining their judgment down on a terrorist!"

The transport's collective wheels plodded ever onward, towards their yet distant destination. Many kinds of eyes, here lining the road, or out there, watching through electronic means, followed them:

interested eyes

disgusted eyes

eyes of pity

_and cold fury_

"Viceroy Jeremiah!" The Margrave stirred, as an urgent voice spoke through his commset. "What is it, soldier?"

"Vehicle approaching the main highway from Third Street, sir." Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. "Do you think it could be a terrorist vehicle?" If that was what the Elevens were planning, then they truly were the useless vermin that they were supposed to be.

"Well sir...it's Prince Clovis' car." The orange eyes were literal slits now. "So we've got a comedian, eh? Well, never mind, let him through to us." After terminating, he gestured for the transporting team to stop.

Suzaku was surprised when his transport stopped, and Jeremiah's subordinates also mirrored the youth's puzzlement.

"What's happening?" the boy muttered to himself as he saw an unfamiliar vehicle coming in the distance.

All eyes, men and man-made, looked with confusion at the strange vehicle that was now making a beeline for the halted convoy. Reid watched bemusedly as he recognized the insignia on the car that marked it as the late Prince's, while Jeremiah's thoughts turned towards making an example of this blatant fool, whoever he or she was.

"This is not a scheduled stop! Could there have been an accident?"

"This is site 5, there's a vehicle approaching them!"

"...just keep going you dolt, and one of you better be sure to keep the camera on the convoy!"

"It's...it's Prince Clovis' personal transport! Can you see it? It's headed straight for you!"

_A flutter of ebony_

It took a few seconds for confusion to turn into wonder to most and bemusement to some as the white-painted vehicle barreled on, tinted windows hiding whoever was driving it.

_Black boots shifting in the concrete_

"I hope it doesn't turn into anything serious..."

"Well, here's to hoping then! If Lelouch was here, he'd probably fire up a rapid explanation of what's going on – hmm... Rivalz, what in the Emperor's name is this?"

"Huh?"

"This...thing! You call this a good combination? The flavor's unbearable!."

_Leather clenching_

"What the hell? Could that be Kouzuki's group? That stunt's real extreme...even for them."

"Ohgi! Are you watching too?...Well, turn the damn TV on, man!"

_An artificial glint_

"Ohoho, I should've seen this coming when he requested _that._"

"What are you talking about, bird-brain?"

"You'll see. Also explains why he stole a bunch of Frenzies too."

"Oh."

"..."

"Where. The hell. Did you get. The. Frenzy?"

"Ack, you're being loud again, woman!"

_A hiss_

"_Miind's Eye System stabi-"_ With a click, he stopped the voice before it could finish. Making him aware of that system would make him think of her. If he allowed himself to think about her, if he allowed his thoughts to wander just a bit in the wrong direction, then he knew that he would fail.

No, no time for emotions! It wrenches the heart and weakens the soul. He must be cold, he must be logical, he must be, or he would fail!

He knew that something had happened on that fateful day, when he'd gained the mysterious power. The latent winds had shifted, and a course for him had been set.

One vengeance had been exacted. The other must follow.

Shifting his eyes just barely towards the neon-lit city, he allowed himself one, final breath. And then he began.

"_Oh no, it looks like, some sort of gas is coming out of the vehicle. Some of the people are panicking...!"_

"_You will pay for desecrating the Prince's carriage and endangering the people, worm! Come, show yourself!"_

"_Lord Jeremiah, above!"_

"_And it looks like a mysterious someone has appeared from the smoke, ladies and gentlemen! Until the smoke clears, we can get no-"_

"_Teams Two and Three! Get to your positions, now!"_

"_This looks to have turned into quite an incident, ladies and gentlemen! The mysterious figure seems to be dressed in an odd manner, and it looks like-"_

_A silence fills the tense air, as the smoke surrounding him clears. Inclining his head and making a swift gesture of graceful greeting, he utters the words that seals his fate._

"My name...is Zero!"


End file.
